


Beautiful

by hunted



Series: Original Works [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Affection, Age Difference, Body Dysphoria, Body Positivity, Chest Binding, Cliffhangers, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Heterosexual Sex, Heterosexual Trans Man, Humor, I am sorry for this, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love, Lovers, Not Beta Read, Older Woman/Younger Man, Penis In Vagina Sex, Praise Kink, Prosthetic (Penis), Rough Sex, Straight Trans Man, Top Trans Man, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, continuing my tradition of posting new works instead of updating other ones, i shall respond when i can, it is the way i am lately, or answering the messages in my inbox
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunted/pseuds/hunted
Summary: A cis woman's romance with a transgender man......The trans man is dominant, and uses a prosthetic to make love.No feminising language is used to describe his body, and the female-centric tags apply exclusively to his cis girlfriend.The author is FTM. There is more information in the notes.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Original Works [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480958
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to any straight trans guys who are starved of FTM representation that they can relate to! (And bisexual guys, etc.) If you would like more fiction involving top trans men, please see [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22478392/chapters/53711617), [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489917), [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067492/chapters/57920857), and [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857451/chapters/54631726). If you are a cis person who is interested in writing trans men, please read [this guide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475404). There's way too much fetishisation of trans guys on this site! If you would hesitate before masculinising a trans woman as a part of your fetish, please hesitate before feminising trans men, and always depicting us as submissive cutesy boys!

Elle gasped, face turned to the side, cheek smushed against the pillow. Pale blonde hair spilled over her face and parted against the nape of her neck. The bed creaked rhythmically, sunshine filtering through gently-wafting curtains. Long, slender fingers curled around her wrists, pinning her in place precisely as she had wished. They had a safeword in place, the word _pomegranate_ whispered before sex, just to confirm they both remembered it. The knowledge that she could summon it at any point, that it could hover at her lips and be so easily released, was a safety she was unaccustomed to.

Brandon was kinder than the men who had fucked her in the past. He had smiled at her lovingly, and though their relationship was exclusively about sex, fucking was more romantic with him than whole relationships had been with other men.

They didn’t know each other outside of sex, but that was fine. They didn’t need to.

Fabric scraped against the backs of her thighs as he slammed his body down against her, and she loved the way her ass jiggled at the contact, loved the brutality she had so lusted after, loved feeling a little slutty. She had wanted to be fucked hard, but most importantly, she wanted to feel safe. And with Brandon, she did feel safe. All of her skin felt treasured, every inch of her body worthy of this man’s desire. He loved all of her. He loved her hips, the solid heft of her belly, the dimples on her buttocks. What she called _cellulite_ and tried to diminish through fad diets and starvation, he worshipped and kissed, telling her how sexy she was, how often he dreamed about her.

He panted against her shoulder, tongue flicking out and painting her so intimately; tasting her, sucking at her, marking her. She moaned as his cock slid in and out of her so easily, so fluidly. He had knelt down before her earlier, for at least half an hour, mouth driving her to a pleasure so profound it was near maddening. Now she was wet, and the deep pressure of a penetration was furthering the arousal. Other men just shoved inside and chased their own pleasure, using her like a piece of meat. But not Brandon. He was special.

He liked to stay dressed throughout their encounters. He wore a flannel shirt, thick fabric warm against her bare back, denim heavy and stiff. His cock emerged from the front of his pants, unceremoniously unzipped. She liked that. She liked that he stayed dressed while he dominated her, liked being naked beneath the hand of a clothed man.

There were other reasons he stayed dressed, too.

But they didn’t talk about those reasons. They didn’t talk about the rigid flatness of his chest, the taut fabric that he hid beneath an undershirt, a woollen sweater, and a buttoned-up flannel. She saw it, saw the small ways he was different to other men, and she knew that he feared her judgement. But they didn’t talk about that, either. She almost wished that they would, so that she could reassure him. He had a strong, beautiful face, and a sturdy jaw. He had cut his hair short using kitchen scissors, emphasising the rigid angles of his young face, and his green eyes were all the more stunning beside pale skin and dark locks. She could’ve spent years meditating on the kind of man she would one day come to crave, and she couldn’t have imagined him. She hoped that her sustained interest in him was apparent. She kept coming back, not because she was settling for his company, but because she _wanted_ him. She was straight. Only interested in men. And she wanted him for precisely this reason; because he _was_ a man, and a generous lover to boot.

Elle prayed that he knew this was the case.

As it was, she just lay beneath him, head spinning from the boiling pleasure that overtook her. Brandon's cock glistened as it emerged from her body, pulling out only to slam back inside. She loved how rough he was, loved that he prepared her so thoroughly, readied her for this intimate destruction. She felt so young beneath his hand. Like the years just melted from her, age disappearing from the bedroom that they shared during these encounters. They were equals, in this bed. She heard herself, heard the broken _uh, uh, uh,_ that burst freely from her mouth. She would've been too shy to show this part of herself to other lovers. Every moan, every gasp had been for performance's sake, a declaration to feed a man's ego. But this man didn't want fake orgasms and a dissatisfied woman. He earned every moan she gave him.

"Fuck," she whispered, "F- fuck, I- _uh,_ Brandon, Brandon...!"

"Elle," he replied, voice heavy with lust, "You're so sexy."

"Thought- _fuck-_ thought about this all day-"

"Yeah?" He ground his hips forward, swivelling his waist to push even deeper, flames of arousal erupting inside her as he stimulated the deepest parts of her. "You wanted this?"

"So bad- Wanted this so bad, Brandon, Bran- _fuck,_ yeah, _uh_ , yeah,"

"Wanted me inside you?"

"Yeah- yeah, yeah-"

He straightened up, hands braced against the meat of her shoulders, palms digging into her back, fingers curled to hold her tight. He fucked her hard, skin slapping, fluids squelching. She wailed, delighting in the sheer helplessness of being _railed_ by a trusted partner.

"Is this good? Do you like this?"

"Y- Yeah, yeah," she gasped, "I- _uh, fuck-_ I love it, I love it-"

"Tell me what you are."

Her face burned. This was her favourite part of every encounter, a kink which she had never explored with anybody else.

"I'm- I'm beautiful."

That word, those precious three syllables. Something she had refused to believe about herself for so many years. He continued to fuck her, smoothing his hand down her back now, following the contours of her spine. She whimpered as his cock pistoned in and out of her, relentless and hard, so in contrast to the gentleness of his words and the tender caress of his fingers. She felt embarrassed by her desire for praise, and embarrassed that this got her off so effectively- but she loved it, she loved that Brandon let her _feel_ this, let her boldly assert her own worth.

"Tell me again. Say it."

"I'm- _uh, uh, f- fuck,_ I'm- I'm beautiful,"

"Yeah, you are," he crooned the words, "You're so beautiful. And you know that, don't you? You're so magnificent. Look at you."

"I'm beautiful," she breathed, "I am, I'm- I'm beautiful."

"Yes, yes," he kept going, both hands settling on her waist, so that he could tug her back onto every thrust, "Say it as many times as you need, baby."

"Can we- Can I lay on my back?" She peered shyly over her shoulder, hair falling across her face. "I want- I want you to see me. I want to touch myself, and- and have you fuck me that way."

He grinned widely, and she saw arousal in his eyes, accompanied by pride. He was proud of her pleasure, proud to see her embracing this so eagerly. He pulled out, and she shivered to feel that sensation, the head of his cock falling wetly from her hole. She rolled over onto her back, and he took the time to arrange a pillow beneath her head, taking the lube they'd let rest on the bed, and putting it on the bedside table. Then he leaned down and kissed her, their mouths slotting warmly together, the taste of her strong against his tongue from when he'd eaten her out.

"You comfortable?"

She nodded, humming affirmatively as she parted her legs. He straightened up, took himself in hand, and guided his cock inside her. She bit her lip and watched him push inside, her folds slippery and shiny from her arousal.

“Need more lube, you think?”

“No,” she giggled, “You could pour me on pancakes, I’m so wet.”

He laughed, raising his eyebrows. “I think that’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Probably.”

Still grinning, he started to fuck her. She reached down and touched herself, face immediately creasing with a desperate frown, brows drawn together, lips parting with a shivering breath.

“Tell me again what you are,” he whispered, looking down at her, “Tell me again.”

She gazed up at him through hooded eyes, close to orgasm now. She loved this position. Her breasts bounced as he thrust inward, her head rocked in place by the ebb and flow of their lovemaking. She felt exposed, and it was wonderful. With other lovers, she would hide her belly, self-conscious any womanly heft which had developed through the years, but Brandon didn’t allow that. No, he would take her hands and gently move them away, murmuring adoring words that cut right to the heart of vulnerabilities she had learned throughout girlhood.

“I’m beautiful,” she said, believing it now, “I’m- I’m beautiful,”

“Yeah, you are."

She arched off the bed, tilting her chin towards the ceiling, groaning loudly. Her fingers were slipping as she chased her completion, the slickness plentifully flowing from her.

"I'm beautiful," she breathed, "I'm- I'm beautiful, _fuck,_ fuck, fuck- fuck!"

Sensations built inside her, rolling through her body like a tidal wave, crashing and exploding. She spasmed, hips jutting upwards, body seizing as she tipped over the edge. The _sounds_ that fell from her were primal and wild, like she was being shattered right down to her foundations. Sparks flew behind her eyelids, and then she was slumping back onto the mattress, falling limp and silent. She panted for air, clenching and loosening around her boyfriend's cock.

He gently caressed her hips as she lay there. Slowly, he pulled out, and she delighted in the sensation he left behind. She felt fucked-out and full of fluid, a delicious ache deep inside that she knew would last at least a day. But there was no pain, no dryness. He took care of her. He wanted to leave her satisfied.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her like a besotted husband. His eyes were soft with a smile, his lips quirked upward. He didn't look at anybody else this way. Often he seemed broody, distant. But not with her. Not in this bedroom.

She pulled him down into a kiss, and realised she never wanted this to end. She wanted him as more than just a casual lover.

***

They showered separately, Elle going first. It was a tradition of theirs, one she respected. She knew that he got off while she was showering, so she always took her time, shampooed her hair and moisturised her face. They never talked about it, like they avoided talking about his dysphoria generally.

She lay in bed afterwards, wearing a silk robe, toying with the ends of the ribbon which held it precariously closed. Her heart was racing, excitement and nervousness filling her with equal intensity. She didn't want to scare the most wonderful man away from her, didn't want him to flee if she confessed her feelings. Mournfully, she knew what to expect; he didn't see himself as being worthy of having a wife, thought she deserved better. She knew that _better_ meant a cis man, a man who could impregnate her and give her babies, but she didn't want another man. She wanted _him._ She wanted to adopt a child, raise them with Brandon. A white picket fence, a loving husband, a partner who cared for her as fondly as any husband ought to. What more could a woman possibly want?

The bathroom doorknob clicked as it turned, Brandon emerging now that his shower was finished.

Elle took a deep breath and steadied herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I am extremely high so I hope there were no mistakes. Please let me know how you liked it!


End file.
